Page 43 of Forbidden Love

She huffed softly. “You fixed the deck?. Tammy’s painting. Pretty soon the place will be better than it was when I bought it.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “We could argue about this all night, but honestly, I’m too hungry and too tired to win. Did you all at least stop to grab something to eat?”

He grinned at her dig about winning. “Nope. We kept going to finish before the rain hit. I’ll grab something quick before I head out for patrol tonight.”

She nodded, then hesitated, her eyes searching his like she wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah,” she said with a small nod. “I’m sure.”

But Brock didn’t miss the way her voice trembled or the way her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She was trying to hold it together, but just barely.

“Make sure you lock up tonight,” he said, stepping back even though it went against every instinct in his body. “Taz found some tracks on this side of town. It might be nothing—but better safe than sorry.”

“I will.” Her smile was soft but faint, her exhaustion written all over her face. “Have a good night, Brock. And be careful.”

He watched her a moment longer, wanting to say something else—anything—but instead just gave her a small nod. “You too.”

She stopped at the door then turned to look at him. “Brock.” Her voice sounded so sad.

“Yeah?”

“You’re a good man.” She said, her eyes filled with tears as she turned and disappeared inside the house.

Brock didn’t move until the door behind her closed. Only then did he turn toward the farmhouse. But instead of going straight there, he angled toward Garrett’s place first. Tammy and Ben would be better off there tonight. Something in his gut didn’t sit right, and he didn’t want them alone while he was on patrol. Not when there were fresh tracks nearby—and not when Deb had looked at him like she was hanging on by a thread.

No, he wasn’t taking chances. Not tonight.

His boots crunched softly against the gravel as he made his way down the path, but Brock barely registered the sound. His mind was stuck—caught on the way she’d looked at him... and what she’d said.

You’re a good man, Brock.

She’d said it with a wobbly smile and tear-filled eyes, like it hurt to admit. Like maybe she didn’t think she deserved someone good in her life.

But the words didn’t sit well with him.

Not because he didn’t want to hear them—hell, coming from her, they meant more than she’d ever know—but because they sounded like a goodbye. Like a thank-you and a wall going up, all in one.

Brock clenched his jaw, frustration simmering just under the surface. That wasn’t what he wanted from her. He didn’t want her gratitude—he wanted her trust. Her truth. All of her, not just the parts she let slip through when she thought no one was paying attention.

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled hard, the sky already darkening above. Patrol was starting soon, and he needed to get his head on straight. But her voice kept echoing in his thoughts.

You’re a good man, Brock.

Maybe she meant it. Or maybe she said it to keep him at arm’s length. Either way, he wasn’t going to let that be the end of it. Not with her.

Not when something in her eyes told him she’d been hurt in ways she wasn’t ready to talk about. And not when every instinct in him screamed that she needed someone who wouldn’t give up—someone who’d stay.

And he would stay. Whether she liked it or not. He knew now without a doubt in his mind that she was his Mate, and he’d be damn if anything got in his way of claiming her. Not even her past.

CHAPTER 19

Deb stepped into the kitchen, leaving the lights off. The faint glow from the stove clock was enough. 3:03 AM. She exhaled slowly, her body aching with exhaustion. She hadn’t slept at all.

The storms rolling through had been loud enough to keep anyone awake, but it wasn’t the weather that had her pacing the halls and staring at the ceiling. It was everything else—the past, the regret, the hard conversations, and the memories she’d spent years burying.

Crossing to the fridge, she pulled out a cold bottle of water, cracked the cap, and took a long drink. The kitchen was quiet, too quiet. It was the kind of quiet that crept under your skin and made you think about things you didn’t want to.

She moved to the window over the sink and stared out into the backyard. Lightning split the sky in the distance, briefly lighting the trees and the edge of the property like a strobe light. Thunder followed, low and rumbling, but further away now. Maybe the storm was moving on. Or it was just circling back for another round. It was hard to say.

---